


Far Away

by lisaong



Series: Far Away [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Injustice: Gods Among Us, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Injustice AU, M/M, Translation, but just in case, dubcon maybe?, it's a very small part of the fic, tiny bit of clark kent/lois lane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-09-06 08:19:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8742157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisaong/pseuds/lisaong
Summary: The Joker murders Lois which leads to Superman becoming a dictator. Batman must stop him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [遥途（Far away）](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7560097) by [merrceiba](https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrceiba/pseuds/merrceiba). 



> Thank you merrceiba for writing this and letting me translate it!  
>  __  
>  **Original Notes by the Author:**  
>  There's a little bit of background from everything (movies, animations, comics, the game)...  
> I also like to see the batfamily caring for and working with each other.  
> Other: There are mentions of Lois and Clark's relationship, of course.  
> And if you look closely, there is a little bit of Dick's one sided love towards Bruce.  
>  __  
>  **New Notes:**  
>  This first chapter is a little bit choppy when translated to English (or at least, I thought so), I've tried to smooth it out as much as I could so that it's easier to follow. There's quite some reminiscing on Bruce's part and the man has a lot of thoughts going on at once. 
> 
> As always, I hope you all enjoy this!

__

_Don't go far off,_

not even for a day, 

because -- 

because -- 

I don't know how to say it: a day is long 

_and I will be waiting for you..._

 

Bruce took off the Batman’s mask, wiping off the cold sweat accumulated on his forehead in the same motion. That particular motion was futile as the rest of his body was also drenched in sweat. In the end though, he’d made it to this hidden place so he allowed himself a sigh of relief. The sigh fell and disappeared together with the water droplets leaking from the old pipes around him, but that only made the air in the underground structure seem more stagnant, the smell of ammonia and sulfur lingering in the enclosed space. Bruce went and sat down on a wooden crate in the corner, elbows on his knees, and bowed his head.

Calculating.

It wasn’t anything too difficult. It’d been three months and seven days since the Insurgency first became active.

But those three months had seemed to pass by even more slowly than the thirty seven years of his life. And considering this was Batman’s life, then it wasn’t really an exaggeration to say that thirty seven years was already an eternity.

Only three months and seven days of activity and the Insurgency was already pushed to the brink of collapse. Batman wasn’t the type to make preparations at the last moment. The moment Bruce had seen Superman, he’d made contingencies for the day he’d potentially have to face the alien, but in the end, no matter how thorough Batman’s plans were, when confronted with Superman’s overwhelming power, they weren’t even worth contempt.

Superman hadn’t even used all of his power to fight.

He pressed his hands to his forehead, thumbs rubbing his temples.

Remembering.

“Headache?” Clark Kent’s voice echoes from his memories, long past a time when it would have been annoying. Everything in the world followed this pattern, once seen enough, it stopped being strange. Since he’d revealed his secret identity, Superman no longer kept up the godlike posture and look all the time, outside of battle and meetings, Clark would slip through the cracks.

(The voice was the same; the tone is different. Because of this, he hadn’t needed to use a voice changer. For the same reason, he’d never used a mask. He’d only needed a change of hairstyle and a pair of transparent glasses to mingle amongst the masses, meeting people, talking to them. And they’d never noticed.)

“What? You have the power to cure headaches as well?” Batman replied harshly.

Batman will always be harsh. Unlike Clark, Brucie would never appear in Batman’s uniform.

Clark made a gesture of surrender to pacify him, let loose a long suffering sigh and slowed down the spacecraft.

Space travel always made people nervous. Not to mention Bruce was extremely sleep deprived.

Clark twisted sideways to rummage in the storage box next to him then handed over a mug.

_Please be coffee._ Bruce wrinkled his nose, already knowing that hope was futile. Still, he reached out and took it. The ceramic was still a little warm from the liquid inside. Milk.

Clark shrugged his shoulders at Bruce’s death glare, “Dick gave me coffee, but I must have forgotten it somewhere. Besides, how long have you been awake now?”

Over sixty hours. Batman knew the answer, but Bruce found no reason to answer. He had no need to. Clark had a pair of eyes that could see through everything-- it wasn’t just his X-ray vision, although that was a part of it. But Clark used his X-ray vision in moderation, that keen reporter sense, however, was another matter entirely.

(When Bruce Wayne was exposed as Batman, the extent of Clark’s surprise was the simple raising of his eyebrows.

He knew in that moment that Clark understood Bruce Wayne, perhaps even better than Batman expected.)

The headache will be more bearable after this wave of pain passed.

Clark’s tone relaxed, probably seeing something reassuring, “Better? You can go sleep for a bit. There’s still a bit of distance to go before we reach our destination.” Clark didn’t seem to notice the intimate tone that snuck into his voice, probably a byproduct of being around Lois so much.

Batman, of course, can’t scold him over that. Although the warmth had no special meaning behind it other than concern, the number of people that enjoyed this privilege is small.

In truth, it could be counted on one hand. The mother who raised him, Martha Kent; the person he loved, Lois Lane; someone who shared the title “god amongst men”, Diana; someone who was just as loving and as bright, Barry; and, for some unknown reason, Bruce himself. It is only in front of this limited number of people that Superman allowed himself to remove his defenses and become Clark. To each of these people, Clark had some kind of special tenderness.

(But only when he watched Lois Lane did his gaze take on fire--and it wasn’t heat vision).

Bruce raised his cup, taking his eyes off of his fingers. He could operate the instrument board by memory anyway. Warm milk slid down his throat, sneaking into his bloodstream. 

(He’s still all too aware of Clark’s presence. After all, his presence never needed visual confirmation.)

There’s only an arm’s length of distance between them, he only needs to reach out. (It’s not the kind of within reach Bruce wishes it were in the deepest corners of his heart). It’s enough for him. Although Bruce knows he will never reach out, that arm’s length of distance might as well have been as wide as a galaxy. But Bruce is already used to Lady Luck’s fickleness, and he didn’t know why she’d always been so loyal in giving him special treatment. He will never demand more.

Despite that one night.

That one stolen night. He remembers the warmth of the kisses Clark had pressed on his shoulders. Remembers the strength of Clark’s hands as they slid across his back.

Remembers every single breath.

Remembers every thrust.

Clark ultimately didn’t say his name, but neither did he call for Lois. (He’s already so grateful).

Of course, Clark couldn’t have mistaken him for Lois. The Earth’s most fortunate (and perhaps most unfortunate) woman would not have skin as scarred as his. No matter how drugged out of his mind Clark was, that wasn’t a mistake he’d make.

Clark wasn’t in his right mind that time.

So Bruce doesn’t think about that night very much.

(When Bruce went through something particularly painful - or when Batman worked on something particularly difficult - he'd think of the smile that Clark had on when he first revealed his identity, the comment he made, "Bruce, you're the strongest human I’ve ever seen. "

It wasn’t the kind of smile that rivaled the sun. Just a light, shallow smile. Not quite Superman. But all Clark.)

They were in the world's largest desert. The sun was on the other side of the Earth. There were only the stars of the sky to see when he looked up.

At the end of that battle, Superman had depleted a large amount of his solar power and couldn’t fly. He wouldn’t die though. They even had enough water to last them for a while and his clothing was almost sufficient to handle the bitter cold. The damaged communicator was thrown aside. Other than waiting for the sunrise the next morning, they couldn’t do anything else - not even Batman could do much to the Earth’s rotation. So they watched the sky.

The universe disappeared for a moment, leaving only a skyful of stars.

Clark, sitting next to him, was unable to stand the silence for long and began to talk about the stars over Kansas and the cornfields underneath that sky. He also spoke about Krypton and the scenery on the trip from Earth the Krypton, occasionally pausing in between stories.

They hadn’t been pressed too close to each other. Even if desert temperatures at night fell very quickly and the second half of the night was very cold, it wasn’t anything colder than what Bruce endured in the Himalayas. Clark did look over at him when the temperature started nearing zero (probably secretly checking his vitals), but didn’t suggest huddling together to keep warm (he would have been rejected).

That was the closest Bruce had ever been to Clark.

Bruce rarely answered any questions. He talked about himself even less, but he did listen intently to every word Clark said. In those story fragments, both the boy of steel who grew up on a farm and the orphan of the distant Krypton were spread before him. This made them seem so close, almost intimate-- from a completely platonic standpoint.

Bruce knew how much Lois loved Clark. Because this kind of Clark was irresistible in every sense of the word.

This alien who grew up on Earth inherited a human’s compassionate heart.

(But when Clark became “Superman”, there is only two people he ever really shed tears for. One is Bruce Wayne. The other is Lois. Naturally.

Then, after he cried for the last time, he thrust the entire world into hell.)

Another drop of water falls on the uneven rock ground, and Bruce slowly raises his head. His headache makes this simple movement extremely difficult, but he pushes through the pain. Like he always does.

\--Superman’s hand spears through Joker’s chest, all five fingers coated in red.

Joker hangs on the reaper’s blade, his laughter and blood choked together in his dying throat.

But Bruce feels like a broken rib has punctured his heart. For a single, crazed moment, he thinks: _I should have killed Joker a long time ago._ Because that insane man has, once again, taken away a person he loved.

He made Clark become unreachable. Even more unreachable than the time he and Lois stood stood together at the altar, reading their wedding vows.

\---------------  
Dick watched Bruce in silence.

Bruce was holding Batman's mask so it wasn't obscuring his face, but even when undergoing his most painful moment, Bruce would not wear a particularly pained expression. His expression could even be said to be peaceful. Only the slightest downward curve of his neck betrayed how overwhelmed he was. These signals, if one wasn’t a part of the Wayne family, if one wasn’t _Dick_ \-- who’d observed Bruce since he was five-- will not be recognized.

(Dick knew what Bruce looked like when the man was immersed in his thoughts.

He knew what he looked like with pain eating away at him.)

Dick drew in a deep breath quietly. Bruce was startled anyway, his eyes alert in a second. In the moment he raised his gaze, his posture changed. It was just a slight lengthening of his neck, but he was still that Batman-- that indestructible Batman who stood against the world.

There was both a gentle and severe inquiry in his eyes, as well as a uniquely parental fear.

For a second, Dick, who’d come here hoping to help alleviate some of Bruce’s burden, became Robin again. Nightwing could graduate from under Batman’s wing, but Dick would never graduate from Bruce. It didn’t matter how many years had passed. Even though Batman took on three other Robins, which included his biological son, Bruce still regarded Dick like a father would his son. So even if Dick’s shoulders were as broad as Bruce’s, his biceps (less impressive than those belonging to the one flying around in the sky, but that was to be expected) were the best that a twenty one year old could hope for, Bruce still thought of him like a child. And when Bruce looked at him like that, he actually felt like he was just a child. He couldn’t even argue that fact with himself.

(So, those thoughts will never be voiced. Because nothing will ever come of them.)

“What happened with Oliver… is unfortunate.” Dick ventured.

That didn’t sound right. Dick shook his head at himself. The tone wasn’t even right. But they’d lost Green Arrow! For things like these, what kind of phrase and tone would be appropriate? But even if he knew the tone wasn’t right, Dick needed to say it. If growing up with Bruce, leaving him, then returning again as Nightwing taught him anything, it was that he had to say what needed to be said to Bruce.

Because Bruce will never voluntarily say anything.

As predicted, Bruce only nodded his head, showing that he accepted the words of comfort. Almost like those words were all he needed to hear regarding Green Arrow’s death.

Dick felt a familiar impulse shoot through him, prompting him to speak before thinking. That will most likely only lead to a fight though, just like back then.

But this time, Bruce spoke first, “It’s time to implement that plan.”


	2. Chapter 2

Dick’s mouth snapped shut in response to Bruce's decision. Then he clenched his jaw.

“Has Jason arrived?” Bruce asked, seemingly unaffected.

“He got here today late morning. He’s currently at my place.” Dick replied woodenly.

Bruce nodded, “Don’t leave him and Damian alone together. This is going to cause extra work for you, Dick. Do you think you can do it?”

Dick couldn’t answer. He knew exactly what Bruce was asking and it wasn’t only about making sure Jason and Damian didn’t fight. He just didn’t want to answer.

In truth, he didn’t want to know the answer. “Bruce, it hasn’t gotten that bad!” He thought he sounded like the time he was fifteen years old, fighting angrily with Bruce. Or maybe it was more like when he was eight years old, begging Batman to let him go with him. Most likely, it was a combination of the two, but he didn’t care, “You can’t…” 

“We can’t lose more people.” Bruce softened his voice, but the words didn’t lose any of their firmness, “Go prepare. Dick.” This was the tone Batman used to instruct his Robins. 

And Dick, just like a good Robin, turned around and walked away.

Then stopped and came back, kneeling in front of Bruce.

“Bruce…” he hated his trembling voice, “I… I don’t know how to say this, I only want you to realize…” The words died in his throat.

(He’s promised himself, those words would never see the light of day…)

Bruce waited patiently then spoke into the silence, “I know, Dick.”

Dick froze, his breathing catching in his throat.

Who was he kidding? This was Batman, the World’s Greatest Detective. And Dick Grayson wasn’t an actor, of course Bruce would already know.

This only served to make the young Nightwing even more sad.

But Dick didn’t even have the heart to pity himself. His head sank even lower, “I won’t ask for anything. I never even thought of it. Only Bruce, please… you can’t…”

Bruce was silent again, then he spoke quietly, “Dick, you already know of my sickness, right?”

Dick didn’t answer. He kept his head bowed; the sound of his tears hitting armor, although sandwiched in with the sound of water hitting stone, was loud and clear. Almost to the point of deafening.

“Dick.” Bruce’s hand landed on his shoulder in a comforting gesture, “Everyone will get there eventually.” All of humankind, at least, was added on silently. It didn’t include the topic of aliens. “Being able to watch all of you grow up has already surpassed my most extravagant hopes… Dick, don’t spoil those three too much, especially Damian. I am leaving them to you.”

The sound of a dying animal rose in Dick’s throat as he pressed his forehead against Batman’s knee.

The tears falling on kevlar had nowhere to go, but Bruce did not move.  
\-----------------------

Tim walked towards the warehouse in concern and saw Damian come at him like a flaming arrow. He quickly reached out to grab him, “Damian! What are you doing?”

Damian lifted his head and gave a smile that was all al Ghul, “I’m going to find Todd.” Then he shot away again.

Tim looked at the warehouse entrance, sighed, and turned to follow Damian.  
\------------------------

Dick eyed the object he was holding like it was a physical piece of death itself. He was not as much considering how he was going to put this thing into Bruce’s body as he was thinking about how far he could throw it. The farther, the better.

“I can call Alfred.” Bruce said, tone unusually gentle.

But Dick was not falling for that, “You won’t call Alfred, he’s too old for this.” (You’ll just do it yourself).

As Batman, Bruce wore heavy black armor, haunted the darkness and shadows, suffered countless traps set by criminals, and dealt with ruthless pursuit by police. He’d suffered many injuries and constant loss, but despite all this, the thing that bothered Dick the most was watching Bruce perform surgery on himself. 

He didn’t use anesthesia and he never frowned during the procedure. The way he treated his body was like he didn’t think it worthy of being treasured and cherished. For Blüdhaven’s Nightwing, this meant that even after a difficult evening and all he wanted to do was collapse into the cot he had at the police station, the thought that Bruce might be sitting alone in that dark and damp Batcave, stitching himself together like some ragdoll, didn’t allow sleep to come. Just the thought was enough to drive him back to Gotham.

Fortunately, Bruce later had others by his side. Jason, Tim, Damian, and… 

Dick stared at the green glow he held in his hands and asked, “Where do you want to put this? Everyone knows you have this. They won’t just let you in to see him without checking you over thoroughly.”

Unlike the kryptonite Luthor often obtained and weaponized, the stone Dick currently held was of high purity. Superman obtained the kryptonite from Krypton and personally gave it to Batman.

Rumors regarding the exchange had circulated amongst the League quickly. Everyone thought it was very strange. Obviously, at the time it happened, there was not a third party present. And kryptonite didn’t seem like a topic that Superman and Batman would just happen to talk about often. Even more odd was the fact that there was no way these rumors would have escaped them-- after all, one of them had super hearing and the other monitored everything like a control freak-- but neither person ever addressed the rumors.

Which meant that although the rumors might not be completely correct, it was close enough to the truth.

Dick was briefly struck with an idea: from the shape of the kryptonite, it could very well have been originally set in a ring. Right at this moment though, there were more important things occupying his attention.

“They won’t.” Bruce said as he raised a finger to point out a spot on the digital skeleton image. His fingertip landed on the junction of the third rib on the left, “You only have to put it here.”

Dick looked at the indicated place and swallowed. He had to agree, “No. They won’t.”

He remembered that injury very clearly. Jason had returned to the Manor again because of it. Because that time, Bruce had teetered on the thread between life and death for a full two weeks.

Clark and Diana had watched over him, refusing to move a single step.

Of course, the other members of the original seven had also come by. Bruce had suffered severe injuries before as well. Clark and Diana coming to visit him wasn’t anything new, but for them to shuffle their priorities to the point of making sure at least one of them was present at Bruce’s bedside even during a crisis… 

The reason was obvious: Bruce had taken that injury in place of them.

The moment Damian had figured this out, he’d attempted to go and confront both Superman and Wonder Woman alone. Surprisingly, it was Jason who stopped him.

Damian, naturally, had pulled out his dagger and attacked. As Jason dodged the slashes impatiently, he’d exploded angrily, “That was his own decision! He’s willing to die for someone else! He won’t kill! There’s no one who could have forced him to do this!”

The dagger slipped through Damian’s fingers and scraped across Jason’s carotid artery before planting itself in the wall with a _thunk_. 

Damian had thrown the door open and left. He’d had more than just that dagger on his person, but it looked like he’d reconsidered his decision to go kill both Superman and Wonder Woman. But just in case, Tim still followed him out.

Dick turned back to check the cut on Jason’s neck. Luckily, it wasn’t anything more than a little broken skin. Dick still went and retrieved the first aid kit though. Jason waved his hand to indicate that he was fine but eventually gave up and held his neck still as the cut was treated.

Then, into the silence, “He won’t die, right?” Jason was suddenly the twelve year old “little wing”. Dick clearly remembered the pain that had swept across his heart, twisting together with the bitterness in his throat.

In the end he answered, “If Bruce taught us anything, it would be to never give up, to keep hoping.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Biblical references made.

They’d talked about this. He was part of the planning process. He should have been prepared for this. None of that mattered as he watched Bruce jump into that trap. Dick wasn’t able to stop himself from rushing out.

Thank goodness for Tim’s fast reflexes and sharp eyes; he was grabbed, dragged back and wrestled to the ground. It wasn’t until Jason covered his mouth that Dick realised he was screaming. 

Around them explosions began to go off. One after another, almost like it’d been timed specifically to cover over his voice.

The smoke on the battlefield might never disperse but Bruce had vanished without a trace.

At that moment, all hope turned to dust.

Even worse, his despair showed plainly on his face, so much that Jason and Tim looked frightened by his expression. As he stood there, frozen, Damian marched over, face solemn and expressionless.

(So much like his father).

“He left this for you to continue.” The young Robin pointed behind him without turning around. Behind that low wall were three thousand rebels, heavily armed and ready to fight. “Will you do it? Or not?”

No sarcasm, but no comfort either. Only a chance to make a decision; one that had to be made now.

Bloodlines really were a mysterious thing.

Dick stood up.  
\--------------------------

Diana entered the main control room with a sense of urgency-- urgent even for an Amazonian-- but she stopped when she saw Kal.

Superman was standing in front of one of the windows that stretched from the floor to the ceiling, his cape hanging behind him, arms crossed, overlooking Earth-- his kingdom. His posture and expression were solemn. He looked like a god. 

No, not “looked like”, he _was_ a god.

This wasn’t an emperor surveying his lands, but a god surveying his kingdom.

So Batman’s Insurgency calling him a dictator wasn’t correct. Not exactly. He didn’t possess the same hunger for power that was so common amongst the dictators of the past. That was something that couldn’t be covered up, no matter how loudly or how passionately they spoke of righteousness. 

In fact, it wasn’t about power. It was more like Kal had erased all of his personal desires. Killing Joker appeared to be the last thing he ever did for himself. After accomplishing that, he just… became a god.

No more selfish wants. Just reason and pity for humankind and a drive to put things in order.

When Oliver confronted him, he very neatly and cleanly, ended Green Arrow’s life-- 

Thinking about it now, Diana couldn’t stop a shiver of awe. Even if she shared the title of “god amongst humans”, she couldn’t be one. At least, not in the same way. Whether it was maintaining complete calm even when provoked or the cold efficiency when ending a friend’s life. 

Logical, strong, unshakeable. No matter what circumstance, this was the best way to get things done. She knew she couldn’t accomplish that. That was something only a god could do.

Even though-- 

If she was completely honest with herself, even she wasn’t immune to feelings of anxiety when around this Kal. Because--

Because a god shouldn’t set foot on Earth. The God of man didn’t. Even if He did send his son (or a piece of his spirit) to Earth to become the sacrificial lamb in place of humans--

He wouldn’t, and didn’t, fall in love with a human. Not the kind of love that colored the soul and twisted flesh together.

Because that would affect too many things. The gods of Olympus couldn’t judge the issues of humankind with complete fairness and justice because they were so involved with them. She doubted that even if it were an all-powerful god, that after experiencing this kind of love, he would still be able to detach himself and watch over humankind completely devoid of bias. 

It was only a second and Superman was already aware of her presence. He turned around to face her, “What is it?”

“I’ve caught Batman.” Diana replied.

The never-ending battle.

But this time, the adversaries were Superman’s once teammates.

His friends.

Of course he wasn’t happy about this.

He’d wanted them to stand at his side, not across from him. But he wasn’t afraid of fighting them.

Absolutely not.

But--

But why did that Bat have to be so stubborn?! He’d been fighting in Gotham for years, _years_! Ultimately, nothing he did could change that city. Why couldn’t he accept another method of doing things?!

Kal walked down the long corridor leading to the interrogation room, cape fluttering behind him, steps measured. Outwardly calm but on the inside, he was anxious. This was a feeling that rarely occurred to him now. Of course, part of it was caused from the fact that no one understood Batman better than he did. When Bruce decided on something, he wouldn’t change his mind. If not even fate could make him yield, Kal doubted he had any chance.

But he had to.

War wasn’t what he wanted. Even less so ending his friends’ lives-- that didn’t make Superman feel good okay? Even if everyone else believed that he no longer felt joy or sorrow.

He just… felt them less strongly. But hurting friends for the sake of justice were two options that conflicted logically, and the whole reason he even resorted to doing this was for the sake of eliminating all conflict.

Absolutely eliminate.

The door slid open and he saw Bruce locked on the interrogation platform. Medical personnel and interrogation officials were everywhere, all of them wearing white gowns. It made the Batman, who was draped in black, stand out starkly. Despite the fact that he was laying on the interrogation platform, entire body locked down, his eyes were closed.

Kal looked at the interrogation instrument.

That thing proved to be very useful. It acted directly on a person’s consciousness, very few people could truly resist it. Of course, there might have been ethical issues regarding its usage preceding Superman’s reign, but this thing has been used in government departments for a long time, even before Superman, it was just not publicly known.

So sometimes, any criticisms regarding its usage seemed to be completely irrelevant and he ignored them. Really. 

Bruce was clearly in pain but couldn’t struggle because his hands and feet were tied down so securely. His mouth, however, stayed shut.

Kal just watched as the instrument was cranked to the highest setting possible.

Bruce finally opened his mouth.

The sound was crushed underneath pain and never made it out of his throat; no one understood what he said, if he even said anything.

But Kal had super hearing.

He heard it clearly. Bruce did say something.

A name.

“ _Clark……_ ”

That name.

The gravelly quality of that choked off sound caused something warm to stir in his stomach--

He remembered that night.

He’d been drugged pretty thoroughly and couldn’t remember every detail as a result.

But he knew that it wasn’t Lois. It wasn’t anyone else.

It was Bruce. He wouldn’t confuse Bruce with anyone else.

(He suddenly felt a little regret about having those holes in that memory, he couldn’t remember if Bruce had used a similar voice at that time to call _that_ name.)

This stirred up a buried want. It wasn’t one that needed to be fulfilled immediately, but it was definitely a want.

After Lois died, he’d thought he’d never experience this kind of desire again.

It wasn’t extremely strong, but it continued steadily, invading and harassing him. If he really wanted to, he could ignore it, but… 

“Leave!” he commanded, “Everyone.”


	4. Chapter 4

Kal lifted a hand and switched off the instrument.

Bruce blew out a long, controlled breath softly.

Kal closed his eyes. Nearly everyone in the Justice League owed Bruce their lives, some more than others. And the person who owed him the most was, without a doubt, himself.

Bruce often shielded they from harm, putting his human body through damage that was meant for metahumans. So no one could stay indifferent when he was in pain-- Diana’s face as she watched them was nauseas. 

"It's not Clark, it's Superman," Kal said matter of factly as he checked the interrogation instrument’s memory.

That statement was meaningless. People often hallucinated when undergoing extreme pain but had no recollection of it after the event. Forcing normal people to undergo the level of pain that Batman couldn’t even endure silently would have lasting effects. Usually even if the source was removed, they wouldn’t be able to hold any semblance of a conversation afterwards.

But this was Batman, not a normal human being.

“That was Clark...” Bruce’s voice was hoarse, but his meaning was clear. 

“That was me. Not Clark. No glasses, no ill-fitting suit.” Why was he arguing over this? This wasn’t why he was interrogating Batman. 

Bruce finally opened his eyes.

Calm, blue irises looked over at him, “That was...well, who do you think? I remember. He wouldn’t stop talking about Kansas and the Daily Planet, Martha and…”

Kal stared at him using an expression that had frightened armies of the entire galaxy.

It had no effect on Bruce. He held Superman’s eyes and finished his sentence, “Lois.”

Kal’s entire body jolted, unnecessary breath choked in his chest.

No one had dared to speak her name in his presence for so long. Until now.

Bruce closed his eyes and the darker blue that had started welling up disappeared behind his eyelids, “Ah, so you haven’t forgotten about her.”

“You dare suggest that!” Kal felt his jaw clench, clearly on the verge of losing control, “I did all of this for her!”

A corner of Bruce’s mouth lifted, “She would be so proud.”

He didn’t even bother lacing his voice with Batman’s trademark sarcasm because the words themselves were sarcastic enough.

Lois Lane had dedicated her short but brilliant life to two things: her love for Superman, Clark Kent, and a fierce support for the ideals of freedom and justice.

His words had the desired effect, Kal was furious.

He threw his cape aside and was in front of Bruce in two steps. One hand tore away all the chains while the other grabbed Batman and lifted him bodily, “Bruce! Don’t provoke me into killing you!”

It would be a lie to say that Kal had hoped doing this would scare Batman, but knowing that didn’t stop him from being angry with Bruce. As expected, Bruce didn’t even blink; his blue eyes held Superman’s stare without flinching.

Perhaps one day-- Kal could pretty much guarantee there would be a day-- all of humankind would surrender to his power. But this single person, would never do so.

Kal could hear the blood rushing loudly through his ears. There was a silhouette in the still eyes across him; it was full of indignation and loss of self-control - almost ugly. This was not him!

Clearly, Bruce wasn’t seeing him either. Bruce was holding his gaze, staring into his eyes, but it was obvious he was looking for someone else.

The sound of blood rushing through his ears quickened, conflicting impulses running through him. Kal thought he should probably release his grip on Batman before he did something he would regret later.

Those blue eyes smiled. Like ripples across a pond, a gentle true smile appeared in the light blue irises

(When Bruce actually smiled, his mouth didn’t move. He didn’t use his face at all; the smile rippled across his eyes. Like the one right now.

As close as Clark Kent had been to him, smiles like this were still few in number.)

“I love you.” Bruce said suddenly.

The clamor of rushing blood went silent. Everything in the universe muted and disappeared.

“Clark, I love you.” Bruce amended immediately, almost like he was trying to prevent a misunderstanding, “Even if it’s not more than Lois,” his eyes smiled, “it’s not less than her either. Because to love you more than I do is logically impossible.”

The sound of rushing blood came crashing back, loud enough to pop his eardrums. Immediately following the sound was the coppery smell of blood, pain in his chest, as well as… 

The feeling of his strength trickling away. Kal loosened his hands, his body swaying forward.

Bruce’s left hand reached back and planted itself on the platform, supporting both of their weights. His right hand steadied Kal’s chest. In this position, they looked like they were professing their love to each other. But blood was trickling down Bruce’s hand, green light glimmering between his fingers.

Superman also reached out a hand to support himself against the platform, trembling with effort, he managed to raise his body enough to look down and see the injury on his chest. Then, as if deeming it unimportant, he lifted his head back up, searching for Bruce’s eyes again.

Bruce sat up, freeing his left hand to wrap around Superman’s neck and let the kryptonian lean into him again.

Such an intimate position, like a loving embrace.

It was also like the reaper had lent its scythe. Bruce’s right hand was the blade, piercing into skin and flesh that was no longer invulnerable. Superman finally succumbed to the effects, collapsing onto the interrogation platform that Bruce had vacated.

Bruce slowly pulled his hand away from around Superman’s neck. He didn’t look at Superman’s eyes, staring instead at the still bleeding wound, “I told you the truth.”

Although you have enough reason to think it’s a lie.

Batman turned away. The uniform on the left side of his chest was already soaked with his own blood. That fact was ignored in favor of speaking into the communicator device he’d acquired, giving a command to begin operations.

At this, the Insurgency began a comprehensive counterattack.

Even if this was well prepared in advance using the information Barry had been giving them from his position as a spy inside the regime, Batman’s presence was still necessary.

Bruce began to stand up, but the change in position caused the severe pain from his ribs to sharpen angrily and he sat back down.

The room began to shake and the sound of explosions could be heard. The battle had begun.

But the reaper he’d invited into the room still had its scythe raised and was cackling in the corner, very clearly stating that “you will never set foot again on the battlefield” in a gloating way.

Alright, so he couldn’t do anything. Bruce turned his head back towards the unconscious Superman. He looked just like he was taking a nap there. Those sky blue eyes were closed, his features relaxed peacefully.

Just outside the window, the sounds of fighting were unending. Smoke and dust filled the air as larger pieces of construction fell. 

The world thundered and collapsed.

But within the frame of the glass window were two people- one sitting, one reclining; one awake and one asleep- facing each other peacefully.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally finished translating this chapter.
> 
> *faint screeching in the background
> 
> I'm so sorry for the wait, but I hope this one is to your liking! There's one more chapter to wrap up this story. Thank you for reading this and leaving kudos, even when I had dropped off the face of the planet!

Someone opened the glass door.

Dick stuck his head in and his eyes swept over the scene that greeted him. It wasn’t a comforting sight and he felt a flutter of fear. It wasn’t until Bruce raised his head and turned to meet his eyes that Dick spoke, “The battle is over. They’re waiting for you.”

Bruce nodded but made no attempt to move. Dick took out the kryptonite handcuffs and handed them over. After receiving them, Bruce clicked them into place around Superman’s wrists then stood up and walked away.

He didn’t look back.

Superman’s trial was going to be another huge undertaking, comparable to fighting another battle. Even back when final verdict was decided upon, no one sighed in relief. In fact, everyone emerged looking like they’d just endured an ordeal even more demanding than overthrowing Superman’s dictatorship.

Superman wore his kryptonite “bracelets”, listening quietly to the punishment they’d decided upon.

Exile.

Tens of thousands of syllables condensed into the thousands of words composing the verdict summed up so neatly in one.

Superman raised his eyes, sweeping them across the jury, and stopped on Bruce. It didn’t matter that his body was exceptionally weak from the kryptonite after so long without exposure, his gaze was still of steel. He didn’t become Superman only because he had superpowers.

“Was this your verdict?” Superman asked Batman.

For a moment, Bruce looked like he was going to rub the space between his eyebrows, but in the end he only went to smooth down the front of his cape.

“This was something everyone on the jury agreed upon.” He answered, neither his tone nor his words gave anything away.

Everyone, including Bruce, had decided that Superman, Kal-El, Clark Kent, would be banished from the place he grew up, the place he’d protected with everything he had and the only planet, other than the destroyed Krypton, he could call home. 

Bruce’s tone didn’t change as he spoke again, “You can give your final request. Provided that it will not violate any human’s rights, your request will be granted. Afterwards, you must agree either to the decision to banish you or,” there was a nearly undetectable pause before Bruce continued in the same tone, “death.”

Superman smiled.

He’d already died for the sake of this planet once, of course Bruce would remember. Batman would know that using death to scare him would be meaningless.

A person who’d insisted on holding the highest power of the planet, yet didn’t care if they lived or died. What an ironic thought. 

But “no killing” had been a core principle of the League.

Taking away his own thoughts and ideas, there were still a good amount of people who cared whether he lived or died.

(“Exile” had been suggested by Oliver, who was lost to them forever. When he’d made the suggestion, he’d glanced over at Bruce briefly. There’d been no change of expression on Bruce’s face even after the word “exile” came up.

Batman had only nodded his head and added this request onto the list of ideas they had for potential consequences in order to let everyone consider it.)

Superman had killed Green Arrow, simple as that, he hadn’t pulled any punches. For every pro, there was a con to trade-off. As the chairman, Bruce sat there considering the advantages and disadvantages, keeping his face carefully expressionless.

Nightwing stood next to him, watching him in concern but didn’t do anything.

Superman smiled then closed his eyes and bowed his head. Silence descended. Perhaps he was also weighing the pros and cons in that superbrain of his. Then he raised his head slowly and opened his eyes again, gaze calm and clear.

Bruce held back the urge to close his eyes, and met Superman’s stare.

The answer was there in that gaze; from this day on, the relationship between Superman and Earth ended, a clean cut. They would never associate with each other again.

“I accept.” Superman said, “Do you believe my word?”

“Superman does not lie.”

No one could argue with that. Indeed, even as a dictator, Superman had never lied.

The Kryptonian nodded.

“I accept the judgement you have given me. I will leave this planet and return your freedom to you. I am sorry for any damage caused, that was not my intention.” His tone was tranquil almost aloof.

Bruce nearly turned his eyes away, but he didn’t because this ruling would take immediate effect.

Superman raised his arms up slightly, motioning for them to take off his “bracelets”. Since he no longer had any claim to the planet, they also no longer had any reason to detain him.

No one dared approach.

Bruce grit his teeth against the sudden lance of acute pain in his chest and stood up. Dick, looking extremely concerned, tried to stand up first and take the responsibility but was stopped by Bruce’s hand on his shoulder.

As Superman watched him approach, the calm façade finally wavered a little. A thin thread of captivation glimmered through those abnormally flat, blue eyes.

“You said I could make a last request?”

“Yes.”

“And what if it were a question, would you answer? A straight answer?”

“If that is your last request, yes.”

The captivation in those eyes grew stronger, rippling over the dead blue surface and reanimating them. There was something in them, fresh and alive, ready to burst out--

But Bruce was so stoic, Batman’s back ramrod straight, defensive and on guard.

(The posture Bruce used before he knew Clark, when Batman dealt with Superman.)

Superman extinguished his last wish. It wasn’t important anymore. He raised his hands up higher. With a loud click, the pair of kryptonite handcuffs left Superman’s wrists. Dick, who’d ultimately followed Bruce over, replaced the cuffs back into their container.

Superman waited for his strength to return to him.

This was a great opportunity to make a speech of defeat, to explain, to argue, to find a justified reason for the act, to give meaning to the results sought after, or even just to leave one or two famous last words.

But Superman only said in a soft, gentle voice for the whole world to hear, “My original intentions were not to harm. I am sorry.”

That was the sound of Clark.

And it was clear that it was directed at one person only.

In the next second, Superman was only a shadow, vanishing in the sky. There was nothing he left behind that indicated he ever existed on Earth in the first place.

“Bruce!” Dick gasped--

Everyone turned from where they were staring at the spot Superman had vanished in time to see Batman collapse.For the reflexes Nightwing should have, Dick was slow to react, his feet even stumbled for a second before he collected himself enough to lunge forward with the intention of catching Bruce.

Someone else was faster.

Superman’s knees smashed craters into the concrete as he cradled the back of Bruce’s neck gently, carefully laying Batman’s head on his thigh.

No one present dared move in response to the returned Superman kneeling in front of them, only the Robins ran forward. There really was nothing that could stop them from going to Bruce’s side.

Not even a furious Superman.

But three inches away from Bruce, they suddenly stopped coming closer.

It had nothing to do with Superman’s fearsome appearance. No, what froze them in place was Bruce. 

All of the Robins knew what dying people looked like, had seen way too many for the amount of years they’d been alive, and they knew, simply from looking that the reaper was already there amongst them, scythe poised and ready.

Even all the power Earth offered couldn’t save Bruce from him.

“What’s wrong with him?” Superman asked, looking at Dick. A storm brewed dangerously behind his words.

“Heart.” Dick whispered around the lump in his throat.

“That’s impossible. I’ve been monitoring his heartbeat.”

For a moment, Dick wanted to laugh, but that urge was very quickly overpowered by heartache and grief. He came forward and, with trembling hands, plucked off a small device on Batman’s chest.

The sound changed immediately.

To Kal El, the sound of an entire universe could change depending on the heartbeats of a select few. He’d already lost almost all of them and the single one he had left was now so weak.

“When?” Superman asked softly, as if unwilling to cover up the sound of the weak heartbeat.

“A long time. He’s tried everything already.” Dick answered.

The muscles on Superman’s arm tensed and bunched, but that strength didn’t translate into the hand holding Bruce’s wrist gently. 

“I want to take him with me. This is my last request.” Superman’s head was bowed, watching Bruce, but his voice carried easily to judging panel. They didn’t respond, deferring the responsibility instead to the Wayne family standing to the side.

“No.” Damian Wayne snapped.

Superman didn’t move although it was obvious that it wasn’t a request.

“Forget it! You killed him!” Damian’s voice was filled with fury, “ _You killed him!_ He didn’t have to suffer this much! You betrayed him. You trapped him! You tortured him! You murdered him! What right do you have to take him away?!”

He’d already taken out his daggers, appearing to have decided to continue his plans of assassinating Superman.

From the tear tracks covering Tim’s face and Jason’s red eyes, none of them seemed to be planning on stopping their brother. In fact it looked more like they were readying themselves to continue Damian’s work should the first attempt fail.

It was Dick who caught Damian. Nightwing all but curled around the small form of Robin before the struggling stopped. Even then, if it weren’t for the fact that Damian could feel his oldest brother shaking, Robin very well could have broken free from Nightwing. So rather than saying Dick stopped him, it would be more accurate to say that Nightwing became a pillar of support to the youngest Robin.

“He doesn’t have much time left…” Dick whispered, chest hiccuping against Damian’s back, “He will want to be with you.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter. I hope you've enjoyed the translation of this story!
> 
> Thank you for all the support!

“Do you still believe nothing is impossible with him?” Damian asked from where he was sitting cross legged on the sofa. It made his small stature look even smaller but the icy steel in his gaze managed to be oppressive all the same.

Waynes.

For a moment, Dick didn’t know how to respond. He knew, of course, what Damian was asking and had no intention to deny anything. It wasn’t exactly a secret that he hero worshiped Superman.

His love for Bruce was hardly a secret either.

He worshiped Superman, as a child and even now, that had never changed.

Just like how he loved Bruce.

“Bruce was always searching for hope, and he, he is hope.”

“But that is no longer true.” His youngest brother stated coolly.

But Dick could tell that smothered beneath layers of cold indifference, was a thin glimmer of hope. He pulled on Batman’s mask.

“Until there is definitive evidence to the contrary, I will continue to believe.”

Damian didn’t reply again, standing up silently.

Superman is still banished from Earth. It didn’t matter if the outcome was good or bad, they likely would never receive any news.

Neither of them brought that up.

Robin and Batman once again swung into the Gotham night together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first story to a series but since I can't promise I'll translate the rest any time soon.


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